|
Replying to a comment on:
To Think I Am (Other) by SomeKindofPoet To think I am what I am not,
That Iâm free-will, not some robot
Which walks around this spinning globe
Of tractor beams and digging probes,
Mindlessly loss within the race
Which fails to pass a valid case
On why I live, on why I die,
And why they still just canât say why
Iâm here.
Such minds we have, these great I ams
Who say theyâre gods or Supermen,
But fail to fill this holy heart
With something more than just a part
Of filth and junk and empty things
Which leaves behind the pains and stings
Of broken hearts and endless lies,
And all the sad attempted tries
At life.
âGreat life!â they say, half-life they bring,
And still I seek to find a thing
That takes me to a place of peace
And all the things that can release
This life of hurt, of pain, of woe
And all mistakes which failed to sow
The joy I seek, the joy of peace,
The hope of love, that pain will cease
In me.
So now I lie in broken shame
And all the waste upon my name,
Broken, bruised, and still confused
On why, in life, this Death intrudes
To steal a gift we have just once,
Stupid, it seems, to this sad dunce
To live in death and all the things
Which fail, in time, to ever bring
Me life.
So here I cry to anyone
Who just might help me find someone
To take me now, to mend this heart
Which fell from me, so ripped apart.
To take the shreds of scorn and shame
Which fixes to my shriveled frame
And mend the pieces once again
So that this soul may then again
Have life.
But what is done when death takes hold
And all my strength canât break this mold
Of pain and hurt and tragedy
That fails to every remedy
Which someone gives me, passing by,
While telling me to simply try
It out, to take away the pains
And all of my own failing gains
Of life?
So then I turn toward the sky
And scream to God, âOh why, oh why!?â
Wondering then, if Heâs still there
Then why canât He just give a care
For me, for me, for just my life
And take away this painful strife
Which fixes to a life like mine
While death itself just takes its time
To kill.
But then this God Iâm screaming to
Comes down and slowly points to You;
A beaten man upon a cross
Who gave His life so that His loss
Would be my gain of life once more
As all His blood begins to pour
Out down onto this filthy heart
Which still cannot deserve a part
Of You.
This world failed me miserably
But You, my God, completed me.
|